All posts filed under: Short Stuff

Drama

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Moment that made me realise the Italian genes course through my toddler’s veins no.247: Frankie (the long-suffering cat) bites toddler during an enthusiastic cuddle session. Toddler cries and lies on floor while wailing “Frankie broke my HEART! He THREW my heart AWAY! Where has it GONE?”

Overlapping weights. A Very Real Threat

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When my husband embarked on his running/healthy eating jaunt, I was super impressed (“Look at my fit, svelte husband! Hasn’t he done WELL?” etc.) However, as he continues to shrink whilst I amble towards a pinnacle of hugeness, the once-vague concept of our weights overlapping is becoming a Very Real Threat. I’ve no choice but to fight back in the only way I know how. I’m reinstating the “if I do the shopping and the cooking, then I get to decide what we’re eating” covenant. Giant mountains of pasta and/or buttery potatoes will be served every night. Cakes will be baked. Squiggle Tops may be crushed up and added to healthy morning smoothies. I feel better already.

The Stern Look

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I always fancied the idea of being one of those mothers who could stop adverse behaviour in its tracks with a Stern Look. My own mother’s Stern Look is so effective that it was named “The Clare Stare”, and is feared and respected by children/teens/errant business-people alike. I tried out my own Stern Look today, and thought I had aced it as my 2.5 year old very suddenly stopped the over-tired grizzle-fest that was approaching fever pitch…but then she put a concerned hand on my arm and said “Mummy!? Are you alright? Why are you making that face? Do you need to do a poo?” It would seem my Stern Look needs work.

Ahh the pearls of wisdom that people feel compelled to share with the Hugely Pregnant.

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When a lady queuing alongside me glanced at my bump today and started with “wow, you’re really pregnant. My friend had a baby last week…” I knew I should dump my intended purchases and waddle away as fast as my puffy feet would carry me. But, oh! the path to finding a suitable button-front nightie that didn’t look like it was destined to be worn by an 80 year old had been a long one, and there was 20% off, so I held my ground (I qualify with “suitable”, because I DID find a nightie with spectacularly easy boob-access in another shop, but it was covered in red sequins and said “Santa’s Saucy Helper”, and I’m just not convinced that will support the Wholesome Mother image I’m hoping to portray whilst staying at Birthcare). Thank you, lady in the queue at Farmers who told me the tale of her friend who laboured for ages, like, days or something, and then the baby came out feet first. I’ll pop that story in my memory bank alongside …

Big girl knickers

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Toddler: “Daddy is doing really well with his toilet training.” Me: “Really?” Toddler: “Yep. He did a wee on the loo this morning. He reeeeeeeeaaaallllllly wants to be able to wear big girl knickers.” Right then, that answers my question of what to get the husband for Christmas

So wrong it’s right

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I’ve often had lyrics wrong (was astounded to discover it was “she’s got Bette Davis eyes”, not “she’s got better taste in guys”, for example), and my two year old looks to be firmly on that same path. For the last few days she’s been reciting “little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her turds away”. Is it a mark of my immaturity that I haven’t corrected her yet?